


One last miracle.

by yer_a_wizard_watson



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drug reference, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 12:59:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yer_a_wizard_watson/pseuds/yer_a_wizard_watson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Reichenbach fall fic. Sherlock's feelings are expressed after the fall as he reflects on how much he misses his dear blogger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One last miracle.

"Just do one last thing for me, Sherlock. Please don't be dead"  Those words pierced into him, ripping their way into him like jagged shards of glass. They twisted around his throat, wrapping tentacles around his veins, bursting into his lungs. His heart felt as though it had been ripped out as he watched silently from behind the trees as John wept at his grave. He wanted to comfort John, to wrap his arms around him and kiss his tears away.

 I'm here, John

 It wasn't that easy. It was better if he thought Sherlock was dead no matter how much it pained Sherlock to stay away. He could never see John Watson again. The 'never' part was what crushed him the most. Silent tears spilled over as Sherlock hid further behind the tree so John wouldn't even suspect anyone was there. He would always be hiding. Hiding from his John.

 I

 It would kill him being away from his only companion. He would cry himself to sleep every night wishing for the sweet smile he used to see. He mourned over the loss of his John. His light blush whenever they touched would lighten up Sherlock's mood. John was like a drug to Sherlock and now he was feeling the sour pinch of deprivation. It was like driving in the wrong direction without any help or map to guide you to your destination. Sherlock was a bird flying north for winter.

 I love

 It was getting harder and harder to keep himself hidden as he went out shopping to pick up the daily paper. He was desperate to solve a case. It had been months and he was now relying on caffeine and masturbation to give him his rush. It was like making an alcoholic go cold turkey. He needed cases to live. Scotland Yard were probably having a hard time without him. It was probably bothering Lestrade that the cases were taking ten times as long now and more and more lives were being put on the line. Sherlock didn't really care about other people before bit he was scared. Scared for John.

 He needed John to be able to live.

 It wasn't as though Moriarty was dead either which was good and bad news to Sherlock. He was disappointed that he hasn't died but at the same time, he was delighted to see the criminal. Moriarty being around was a sign of stability to Sherlock. It reminded him of the dark reality rather than the fantasy the powder he'd inhale would take him to. he missed the rush of playing Moriarty's games. He was Moriarty. Moriarty was him.

It was ever since he had to leave John that he'd gone back to his old habits. Late night smoking, an abundance of needles stacked up in the kitchen, abandoned bottles of whiskey lying around the apartment. Without John there was nothing. No happiness, no hope, no love. A part of Sherlock was missing like a pendant smashed into two pieces, one buried in the gravel forever. He wouldn't get John back, and as this sad realization hit him, he frowned deeper as he injected himself again. The drug would freeze life around him, stopping time. Sherlock would be in his own little world where nobody would bother him and it wouldn't hurt anymore that he wasn't there. He could forget about Moriarty, his fall, Lestrade, the cases, the murders, Molly Hooper, The Woman and most of all, John Watson.

I love you

Sherlock pulled up his hood and put sunglasses on as he walked out of his apartment. It was raining but he needed to hide his identity nonetheless. If anybody saw it was him, he'd probably have to run away and he wasn't really in the mood for jogging through the slippery streets of London at this time of night. As he stubbed out the last cigarette from his last packet, he pushed the door open and carefully dodged through the crowd surrounding the door. The shop was packed with people. Not good, Sherlock winced as he headed towards where the baskets were kept. He was about to turn around when someone knocked him over by accident and the stranger's eggs cracked over the freshly mopped floor.  "Oh shit," the man cursed.  Wait.  Sherlock recognized the voice. As he took the hand that had been offered to him, he stood and could now see the familiar distance between them.  The man's breath hitched in his throat as he took Sherlock's sunglasses off with shaking hands. He paled a little before his eyes went wide. John.  "Sherlock..." John whispered as he stroked his dear friend's cheek. Sherlock held his hand to his face and then he smiled.  "John!"  "Sherlock!" John was crying by now and before they knew it, their lips were pressed together in a long, relieving kiss.

 

 


End file.
